Suicide
by JustAGirlNamedJEL
Summary: Craig is done with living. Living with his anger, his inflicted pain. He's going to end it all. He will. Don't believe it? Then you definitely don't know his pain. Creek ( Craig X Tweek )


Suicide

Craig X Tweek

Written by JEL

Craig P.O.V.

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><p><strong> I hate this.<strong>

**I hate everything about it.**

**Life has never done anything for me.**

**I fucking hate it.**

**I hate life, I don't even know why I let myself live thi****s long.**

**I hate it.**

**I HATE it.**

**I HATE IT.**

**I HATE IT!**

* * *

><p>My mom yelled at me. "You're not going to kill yourself, Craig Tucker! Stop talking like that!"<p>

I yelled back. "What, you mean you don't want me to?! You've always hated me, so why not get rid of me?!"

"I don't hate you! You're my son!"

"And what?! Is that supposed to mean you care about me?! You don't give a SHIT about me, or what I do! You just don't want to be the mother who let her kid kill himself!"

"That's not true, Craig! Now stop this!"

"You don't believe I'll do it?! Because I've wanted to for a long time! I'll do it!"

"Craig, don't." She didn't even yell at me anymore. She acted like I was a little kid threatening to knock over a table.

"FUCK you!" I stormed my way upstairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me.

I rested against my door, fighting myself not to cry. I hated crying. I looked down at my hands, seeing they were balled tightly into fists. I did my best to loosen them, but I was too angry to stop. I slid down, sitting on the floor. Finally, my tears overflowed, and I sobbed quietly. Knocks hit the other side of the door.

"Craig, come back and talk to me, son." Mom attempted to open the door, but my body blocked her from doing so.

I closed it again. My voice choked and cracked. "I don't wanna talk to you anymore..!"

"… Fine… but don't you dare harm yourself, you understand me?"

"Fuck off, you bitch..!"

I heard her steps go back downstairs, and fade away.

I stood, and fists still full of anger. I punched a single hole in my bedroom wall. I'd never been so pissed like that before. It was something about the lack of refusal of my death from my mom that just got me. It just proves even more that she didn't care about me. But it wasn't just my mom that hated me, it was my dad, too. Maybe it was the fact that he'd abused me for years that gave me that impression, I don't know. Maybe he's why I turned out like an alcoholic, just like him. Maybe it was my mom just ignoring my pain that made me so cold myself. No matter what gave me my demons, I had them. I hate them. I hate my parents.

Yeah, my dad beat me. A lot. Mostly when I was younger. He still did it every so often, though. I can remember one time, I'd come home after curfew, and Dad had beaten me with the buckle on his belt. I remember it stinging like a fire, and my arms and chest hurting like that for two weeks. That was the first time my mom had actually said something during one of my beatings.

She'd stood there for a minute even before speaking. "Dear, you're hurting him."

No shit.

He'd yelled at her, and threatened to hit her, so she went upstairs without a word. She hadn't even seemed scared, she just looked at us blankly, and retreated.

After that, the blows became more furious. The buckle scratched and tore at my skin, and blood eventually was drawn. Soon, my screams and crys had made him stop. But that was after a good fifteen minutes of consistent pain.

As for the alcoholism part, that was my parent's fault, too. If you beat your child, or let someone beat your child, what do you think they'd do? Drugs and alcohol. And that's exactly what happened with me. I started stealing my parent's booze, as an escape. Of course, if I got caught, I'd be beaten like hell. That's why I don't get caught anymore. Well, I can't say that. Every so often one of them would catch me. At least, if my mom got me, she'd wait for my dad to get home, which gave me plenty of time to sneak out of the house. But if my dad himself got me with red hands, I'd be smacked on site. "Don't touch daddy's booze" is the moral of the story here. It doesn't end well. I know this first hand.

Oh, but that wouldn't dare lay a harsh finger on my sister, which I was, in a way, thankful for. Ruby was their good child. She was perfect in every way, according to them. I was a messed up teen, with a rebellious attitude and a drinking problem. But Ruby, she was an A student, and was too young to even touch a beer can or needle. I was the fucked up one, in short. I was their mistake. "The baby is always the favorite". That's true, in my house. Never even once has dad hit her. And if he did, I'd probably snap his neck. Not like I'd be successful, I'm a fucking stick compared to his forearms the size of bridge pillars.

I sat on my bed, face buried in my hands. I'd stopped crying, but I was sure I could keep going if I wanted to. I sat up, and looked over to my dresser. I kept my pistol in there, in that bottom drawer. No one knew I even had a gun. That was the point. I opened the bottom drawer, and stared at it for a moment. It was always loaded, but I hadn't touch the gun in a while.

Sometimes, when I was at my peak, I'd empty the chamber completely. Then I'd pretend to shoot myself. I know it sounds weird, masochistic even, you could say. But it was therapeutic. I'd feel a little bit of release. Better, maybe. But this was too much. I was way off the peak, somewhere in space, probably. I don't know.

I picked the pistol up, feeling the weight was pretty generous. I sat back on the bed, just gazing at it in my hands. I wasn't sure how far I was willing to go anymore. All the way, I suppose. That's what I felt like.

I set it down for a second, and refused to look at it. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. A voice in my head was pushing me, prodding me on.

**"Do it."** It said.** "Don't be a coward. You have no reason not to."**

**"No one will care."**

**"You know you want to pull the trigger."**

**"End your life."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

**"Kill yourself."**

I placed it back in my hand, cocking it. I pressed it right against my temple, putting my index on the trigger.

I closed my eyes. My hand trembled in… I don't know… fear..? Sadness..? Something.

I clutched the edge on my bed with my other hand.

I pressed down on the trigger.

My bedroom door opened. I froze. I saw those green eyes before I saw the rest of him. Tweek was standing in my doorway, his hands over his mouth.

I lowered my hand. "… Tweek..? What're… you doing here..?"

I very well knew Tweek knew what I was doing. He was paranoid, not stupid.

"… C-Craig… why are-… why would-..?" Tweek strangely wrapped his hands around his own neck, barely even touching his own skin. I could see faint tears in his eyes.

"… Look, I-…" I cut myself off. There was no way I could explain everything to Tweek. He was too sensitive for my story. "… I just… need a way out… So, please… leave…"

He changed. Tweek went from shocked, to… angry. "N-no..! I won't let my best friend k-k-kill himself..! Y-you can't, Craig..! I - ngn -… I wouldn't be able to s-stand it..!"

"It's not like anyone would care… I don't want to live."

"What do you mean n-no one will care..?! I would..! D-don't I mean a-anything to you..? Am I just somebody you place b-beside you for fun..?"

"No, I just… I CAN'T go on living… all I ever feel anymore is pain and anger… I don't want to live like that…"

"But WHY?! Why do you have to leave me?! Why are you so selfish?!"

Selfish?

"You're the strongest person I-I've ever known, and you're taking such a-a COWARD'S way out..! You're not a coward, Craig..!"

I stood. "Listen! You don't know HALF of my life! I never told ANYONE about every beating, bruise, and scar I've gotten! Every blood drop! Every scream for mercy! Not even the gun I kept in my dresser! I might've been strong, but for too fucking long!"

Tweek look up at me. He hugged me. "… I'm not an idiot… you-you don't think I've seen those marks on your a-arms..? I've always k-kind of known… but I w-wanted you to TALK to me about it, n-not this..!"

Honestly, that wasn't hard to believe. I didn't ever really try to hide my marks, when I really should of. But I didn't care if somebody asked, I would've just said I fell, our something. But I didn't want Tweek to ever know about it. It was a nightmare to find out he'd always known.

"… Why couldn't you of t-talked to me..? We're best friends, don't you trust me..?" Tweek didn't let go of me.

"… Of course I do… I just didn't want you to know about-…" I trailed off.

"… You don't have to kill yourself, Craig… I-… I'll be here for you from now on..!" He squeezed me tighter.

I embraced him. "… Okay… I won't…"

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><p>END<p>

IDK… I felt really inspired… I just wanted to post something, since I don't have the next chapter for There is Hope, Tweek… I'm sorry…


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